E flat
by So Guhn
Summary: The problem with defying destiny was that it was impossible to deny. link x zelda, hinted link x midna.


_E-flat_ **; PG13 - angst/romance - Link x Zelda, Link + Midna**

"The matter with humans," she starts. In his mind her voice is as if a river, ever flowing, though her feet have taken her not far, her words have traveled more miles than he.

And then, as if staring out beyond the view of an open window, peerlessly, forever she has been gazing and waiting, as if this chance was to have come sooner than long ago- she reaches out her hand, shrouded in white glove to he.

But he does not take it because humans-

"-is that we underestimate each other."

And her fingers curl inwards.

In order to take at some point you must give.

A slant, a brief if only abbreviated within the span of half a minute, her head, her gaze, a varying emotion flickering behind the iris, behind the countenance that harvests pride and crushes it into a fine enough powder so it may remain colourless upon the wind.

He doesn't understand why so many lovers take with great velocity "we were fated to be". To be preordained by the gods, he cannot say he cares for it. To this person you will die for, to this person you will fight for; to this person you will love only. To be fated, he would rather love of his own accord, he would rather decide. He would rather if fate had nothing to do with it at all.

(Then what should be a factor in the decision?)

Muted his lips would shape the word "time."

Questioning all before them is blasphemy, questioning who and why and what they were made for was simply not supposed to be comprehensible. But Link cannot help but do it any way.

"Actually, I overestimated you."

And Zelda, what clarity her eyes hold for him is the exact same kind of clarity one find against the falling rain as it tries to make fast escape with paradise and overcome every obstacle that comes its way (as prevention). Wishing that he may hold it in his own (hold her) if this is what the gods expected they would be freshly awakened with disappointment.

She smiles back at him (though he does not recall smiling at her.)

"As I you."

They had been (are to be) sailors, at one time or another, they had roamed seas on separate ships, though they stayed upon the exact vast plain, what they had seen had been different. The way the sun rose, the way the water shifted, different, different name, different faces of many different people and that was why-

"How embarrassing."

And while his lowered head shakes hers stays in place, unwavering. "No," and because she does not find it so he had not really, either. Muted wind and grass underfoot, the delicacy in which she speaks alerts him that the strength in her words she holds alone. For him. For herself.

"Not at all. I knew... from the moment I saw you. Ah!" and she places her hands up, open, graceful, flustered about and before her in a hushed way that catches his attention and degrades it, "The first time when I saw you as a human, not when you were a wolf."

Silent breaks between them before she continues.

"I knew... I know we are different this time."

Still looking at her hands, they did not fold upon themselves but interestingly they fist about her thighs, into the dress, and tremor- a faulty and unpracticed sonata.

"I know..."

Glossy, wet, running down her face, he looks upon it with a hurried sharpness (desperation) that she looks from (her reflection upon him), scattering the syllables, and they become merely sounds and he wants to, he wants to hold her hand but cannot and instead, draws her forth so her face is pressed against his shoulder and the wetness seeps to the very chain metal beneath the fabric. This is how-

He has lived this life many a time, many to victory, to success, to legend. But never has he lived this life as just they and nothing. Always he would fight for her, always he would die for her, always he would love her. A heart beating should not be moved from its rested place, and when it had he had been startled (and so had she.)

"Your highness," faulty fingers, tangling in the silk and smooth and silent of her hair he cannot even feel.

She would be the princess, and she would be the (his) Queen. This story has been wrong all along and set up for this very spot, he is not a knight, he is not a prince, he is not a King. He had been a child, a child of the forest, a farmer, a living breathing being just a boy. From there, all he had been was a Hero, and aside from the merit of told tale and untold name he was nothing else.

But he cannot continue to say (in another life) because here they were.

Are.

He cannot understand all the more- why was it, why was it that he holds her now, tightly, strongly, as if the last breath has come to be parted and issued and trampled in this very span of time, how, how he would have liked to love her instead was not the thought, it was unavoidable- his loosened heart was falling back in place and he- he refused to let it keep its descent.

(Because to him Midna was, is-)

"I underestimated us."

His fingers are caught in strands of gold not red. (With her.)

"As did I."

And they both think the gods are taking this (in)difference rather well, because the heavens do not fall.


End file.
